Rough Day
by Mistress of Modern Mythology
Summary: Just some therapeutic Jean/Marco modern AU, living together fluff. (It's a nice cool down after a feels heavy fic)


**A/N So this is just pretty much Jean/Marco fluff that I wrote because of one of my Tumblr asks. Do enjoy and review!**

"I'm home, Jean!" I call as I carefully close the door behind me, tossing my jacket on the chair next to it. There's a muffled answer that I barely make out, so I head over to the bedroom- where I usually find him after work- going through the kitchen on my way, a wide grin on my face the entire time.

My cute, two toned hair boyfriend is lounging on the bed, laptop propped on his knees. I shake my head as I slide over to plop down next to him. He barely looks up from the screen as I ruffle his hair. He lets out a sound between a purr and a sigh.

"Rough day?" I ask as I hold him against me and rock him slightly, in attempt to see what he's doing. He's on Netflix, specifically season nine of Supernatural. He never watches Supernatural unless he' upset or feeling melodramatic. I scour the screen to see which episode. Ugh, it's a season finale, so he's upset, "Babe, what happened? You okay?"

He lets out another moan and burrows deeper into my chest. I run another hand through his soft hair.

"You never watch the finales unless you want to cry over the Winchesters," he doesn't move, "I guess I'll watch it with you," I sooth as I slide into a more comfortable position, "Even if only it's 'cause Dean's a ten," I add with a smirk.

"Shut up," he says playfully. I don't know where he got the pillow, but somehow it managed to get smacked in my face.

"But on a scale from one to hot damn, babe, you've got it broken," I finish and give him a quick peck on the forehead, "But since you're going to put me through another emotionally traumatizing episode, then you get to grab snacks." I can feel him beaming without looking at his face. His body shifts in such a small way that I can just tell that he's bashfully pleased. He's never bashful, wow, he's in too deep.

"Fine," he tries to act annoyed, but he practically pops out of his seat (on me, I might add) and bounds to the kitchen. _I guess it's true when the gang says that I can get him out of any funk_, I smile to myself.

"Uh, how many episodes did you watch before I got home?" I ask as I go through the recently played history. Three… not that bad, but he's only been off with enough time to watch about that and a half. I loosen my tie and toss it on the nightstand.

Suddenly there's a scream coming from the kitchen followed by a string of curses and the sound of bowls clattering to the ground. I'm standing in the doorway the next second, and look upon the ungodly sight of Jean, large fluffy blanket draped over his shoulders, holding a kitchen knife with two hands, and standing on the counter. There's a bowl of popcorn spewed all over the floor. I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, and trying not to laugh when I realize what he's screaming at.

"HOLY FUCK! THERE'S A SPIDER, MARCO! KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT!" he squeals, "QUICK BEFORE IT MOVES!" My gaze falls to where he's pointing the knife at. There's a small, dime sized black household spider positioned on the wall. It moves a tad to the left and he screams again, caught off guard. That's when I lose it.

"MARCO BODT, DO NOT LAUGH AT ME! I'M BEING SERIOUS!" he scolds, but the spider moves an inch to the other side and he scampers away with a whimper, "KILL IT! KILL IT WITH FIRE!" He ungracefully dives off the counter, thankfully dropping the knife in the sink before the jump, and crouches behind me in attempt to use me as a shield.

"I didn't know you had a thing for spiders, Jean," I snicker as I walk over to the wall, and let it crawl on the napkin I hold out, then I open the kitchen window and push it outside. Jean is still perched behind me, cautiously looking over my shoulder, still eyeing the knife, but he has the blanket wrapped tighter.

"It's been a long day," he muses as he brushes a hand through his hair, I turn and flash him a smile. His face softens a bit, and we head back towards the bedroom, hand in hand.

"Wanna talk about it, babe?" I ask as he crawls up to sit on my lap, once we've made it to the bed.

"Just another episode first," he replies, tongue sticking out a bit in concentration as he hits "Play" and 'Carry on Wayward Son' starts playing. I lounge back and put my head on his shoulder, occasionally giving him a little smooch on the neck. We could stay cuddling like this forever, and I'm tempted to try.


End file.
